Pelfhe: The Unusually Lucky Nord
by anyponyelse
Summary: When the Elder Scrolls games creators made Skyrim, they strayed a lot from the previous games in terms of stats. One stat they removed was Luck. This story is a humorous take on if the Divines and Daedric Princes combined rejection the creators' goal to remove luck and made a being with perfect luck and low everything else. The rest can only be told in story...
1. Chapter 1

Skyrim: a land of dragons, Nords, Falmer, and other various things that make the land special. As one of Tamriel's coldest areas, those who make the trek this far north often find the place unpleasant to live. Some survive, some do not, and sometime find ways to thrive. Those who are born and raised in the land of Skyrim fare slightly better than those who immigrate, but due to the equally cold climate of the terrain and populace, natives to the land are not guaranteed prosperity.

Overseen by the Divines and Daedra, the denizens of Skyrim, like all of Nirn, live as best as they can in a pseudo chess game of power. Sometimes, though, the Divines and Daedra like to come together and play a little side game to amuse themselves. This time the game comes in the form of a Nord in Skyrim named Pelfhe. Born under the sign of the Thief, the Divines and Daedra altered the usual inherent abilities of the sign and heritage to bless the boy with an unusual amount of luck. This blessing, however, is also a curse, as he is also unable to learn as well as the average intelligent being.

This is the legacy of Pelfhe the unusually lucky Nord.

Today is Middas, the 3rd day of Heartfire 4E 201. Pelfhe is 22 and wishes to leave his home. It is not his birthday, nor any day of particular excitement, but today seems like a good day. Today, Pelfhe decides he will do something outside his small village. He nods once to himself before opening the door to his home and walking through the doorway.

"Marm," he declares, "I'm leaving. I want to do something else. I want to go– to places. See Rimsky." He closes the door firmly, trying to sound confident to his taller mother.

"Skyrim," his mother corrects. "Skyrim, Pelfhe. How many times must I tell you?"

"Skyrim, Rimsky, it's the same thing isn't it? I mean there's a thing above us and an edge to it-"

"SKYRIM, Pelfhe. It's the land of our ancestors. We came here and named it such. No one will understand you if you don't call it that, son. They'll look at you like you're crazy sooner than they ought. Now listen. If your father were here he'd probably say no, but I still think he's crazy for joining the Stormcloaks with only a letter to say where he went. Oh, and don't go spreading that around okay? We have enough trouble here in Whiterun Hold as it is with the Frostbite Spiders, we don't need Imperials or even Thalmor coming down here with their anti-Talos Inquisition. This is going over your head isn't it?" she asks rhetorically, remembering mid-rant that Pelfhe's attention span and memory were both rather short. She turned away from activity of chopping leeks for her nearby stew to see her son to her right sitting at what they usually used for their dinner table.

Sure enough, he had already started analyzing an apple while she was washing the dishes and speaking her mind. Pelfhe's gray-brown eyes stared at the apple in his rough, calloused hand as he used his other to push a small lock of reddish blond hair out of his face. The lock caught on the brown stubble on his face and threatened to side back in front of his right eye. His eyes were a little closer together than usual, which gave him a permanently mildly confused appearance. The apple didn't seem to help matters because of how close he was holding it to his wind-worn face.

"Are you going to eat it, or talk to the bug in it?"

"BUG? EW! You eat it!" he exclaimed, throwing the apple to his mother clumsily. She reacted quick enough to catch it before it hit the handle of a knife laying on the table in front her. She sighed, with a small chagrin and began to cut up the apple.

"Look, there's no worm in it. Did you even see a hole for a worm to enter? I swear if I didn't wan– oh." As she was speaking, she sliced unexpectedly through a worm in the apple.

"Honestly, how do you do that. Whatever. Go on, go on a small adventure. Come home before you starve to death. Here's 50 Septims, and try not to spend it all in one place." Pelfhe grabbed the bag with glee, picking up another apple from the table basket as he hops out the door happily beginning his adventure.

-One Week Later in Riverwood-

"Well is there anything you CAN do? You need to pay for the past two days." The innkeeper was not happy. Not only did Pelfhe fail to bring the small package he was supposed to go get to pay for the day before yesterday, he also somehow found a way to get into the inn room for the night under the innkeeper's nose.

"Honest, sir, I don't know where that sack went!" Pelfhe pleaded to the innkeeper behind the counter.

"No, no. I'm done with excuses. Just find something to do to pay for what you owe. Do you know how to swing an axe at least?"

"Sure" Pelfhe said nonchalantly. How hard could it be? He'd seen people do it before. Somewhere. Wait, how did that go again? Axes… they…

"Alright, follow me. I've got some wood you can chop. Keeping this fire alive takes a bit of wood, and people will want to come in to get away from the snow off the mountain soon. Maybe a little honest work will be possible for you." The innkeeper walked around the bar and the stone fire pit in the middle of the inn to the exit with Pelfhe close behind. Outside, the innkeeper turned to the right to go to the right side of the building, where an old tree stump served as a chopping block, with a pile of tree segments lay next to a much smaller pile of chopped fire wood. In the stump was an aged axe, head lodged in the surface to keep the axe handle upward waiting for the next wielder.

"See what you can do. I'll be back in an hour or so," the innkeeper said as he walked away back into the inn. Pelfhe stared at the axe with a very perplexed look. This was not the object that he had thought it would be. Unfortunately, now he couldn't remember the name of the object of which he was thinking as it was clear that the name of that object was no longer "axe." How to use this item, he pondered.

After a few moments of strenuous thought, an idea came to him. Maybe, since the axe head was wedged into the surface, with similar divots in the stump around the middle, he should use it to make more divots! Maybe the purpose was to make divots in the stack of tree branch segments next to him! The revelation excited him: he finally guessed what signified which tree segments were fit for firewood and which weren't. Whichever he could put a divot into would be firewood, and the ones he couldn't dent would… would… well maybe that would become apparent later.

He excitedly jaunted a few steps over to the pile of tree segments and grabbed one ones in the middle. After a small wrestle to get it free, the pile shook lightly but didn't fall, leaving a hole in the middle of the pile. Satisfied, he turned to put the wood down on the stump, but the axe was in the way. Realizing his mistake, he then turned back to the wood pile to put it back: in the spot where he found it. More minor wrestling occurred, and again the pile shifted some without falling. Proud of himself, Pelfhe clapped his hands together to brush them off and turned back to the stump. Oh yes, the axe. He then moved to pull the axe out of the stump, but unfortunately the stump was unwilling to relinquish the axe to its new user. A few quick pulls brought the axe out of the stump, and Pelfhe stood a moment, triumphant in his battle with the stump to obtain the axe!

Placing the axe down, Pelfhe turned to once again remove the wood from the middle of the pile (it again shifting but not falling from the lack of support in the middle). He then put the tree segment down on the stump sideways and once again picked up the axe with much less struggle since the ground was much more accommodating than the stump. He then set to do his duty: putting a divot in the log. Excited he remembered the proper name of the tree segments in this process, he then grabbed the axe like a sword and swung the axe downward to the log to commence divot making! The axe did not share his enthusiasm and bounced off the log, sending the log rolling away. He dropped the axe in a panic to chase after the log.

On his way back to the stump, Pelfhe decided putting the log on the stump long ways up to make it more stable, or at least, less likely to roll away. Again he assumed his stance and swung the axe in the same fashion downward to the log. Again, the axe bounced off, but this time the log did not roll away, merely rocked back and forth a little before settling back, awaiting another strike. Success! Pelfhe, enjoying his victories, took a swing at the log again, this time jumping up slightly to get a wider arc and hopefully more speed into the swing.

CRACK!

The log accepted the divot! Unfortunately, the log accepted the divot so well, that the axe head actually made a divot almost halfway through the log. It was also lodged into the log, and Pelfhe could not remove it. He tried stepping on the log and pulling the axe head out. He tried kicking the log off the axe head. He tried kicking the axe handle. Running out of options, Pelfhe became frustrated and slammed the axe-log into the stump. This sent the axe head all the way through the log with enough force to send the right piece onto the firewood stack and the left piece equidistant to the left but not that far.

Surprised at the occurrence, Pelfhe tried to comprehend what just happened by blinking his eyes. This sometimes aided what some would consider his thought process until it hit him. His foot, to be precise, as he let go of the axe while thinking, it landed on his foot. With a yelp, he grabbed his foot and came to another realization. So much learning today! Maybe the divots were unnecessary, and the logs could just be split as is. He collected the wayward left piece, placed it on top of the firewood pile, and grabbed another log (from the middle of course, and the pile shifted again without falling) to try to split again. Pelfhe then picked up the axe, glaring at it for hurting him before taking his stance again and winding up to swing.

"What in the name of the Divines are you doing?"

Pelfhe yelped in surprise, dropping the axe on the innkeeper's foot who came up somewhat beside him. The innkeeper also yelped, did a small dance of pain, and looked at Pelfhe crossly.

"How many pieces did you chop like that?"

"Uhhh… 1?"

"One log?"

"Yeah."

"I'm surprised you even did that much. Okay, here, I'll show you how to swing that thing properly." The innkeeper bent over and picked up the axe, but only the handle came with it. The axe head and a few inches of the handle stayed on the ground.

"What did you do to my axe, boy! This is why you don – wait, hang on. This is rotted. How did you even swing this and split a log?" Pelfhe shrugged. He hadn't learned that yet today. "No matter, I'll get Viktor to put on a new handle. Have a seat on the stump; I'll be back in a minute." The innkeeper walked off with both parts of the axe, and Pelfhe did what he was told.

Moments later the innkeeper came back with an axe in one piece. One very pretty piece. The handle even had some pretty etching near the axe-head. The innkeeper looked at Pelfhe somewhat resolutely and took a deep breath. Pelfhe mimicked the action.

"Okay, now there are two ways to swing an axe, and both are overhead. Based on your stance you probably won't be doing it in the traditional Nord way. So here, get up, stand beside me, and watch. Put your non-dominant foot forward…"

At this time one of the Jarl's messengers appeared to come over the hill in the distance. He was jogging at a pace that hinted at importance. The Jarl of Whiterun from time to time sent messages of various importances to all minor towns in Whiterun Hold for a few reasons. Two major reasons were to remind the towns who was in charge of the area and who to go to for help when needed. With Whiterun being neither Imperial nor Stormcloak loyal yet, the Jarl wanted to be extra careful against either deciding to attack the Hold. His Housecarl's solution was to send messengers out with updates periodically, and he did so gladly but lazily.

One of these messengers arrived at Riverwood just as the innkeeper finished his axe-swinging tutorial and handed the axe to Pelfhe. Pelfhe took his stance as the innkeeper placed a log in front of him and stood to the side to watch Pelfhe's form. Just as he was about to swing, the Jarl's messenger stopped in the road some distance behind Pelfhe and took a breath to yell his salutation.

"GREETINGS. I HAVE COME FROM WHITERUN-"

*CRACK*

"TO DELIVER A MESSAGE FROM THE JA-"

What transpired was a very lucky and very awkward but predictable situation. Pelfhe swung downward at the log in an attempt to find the right spot in the log to crack it in two. Startled by the messenger's sudden announcement, Pelfhe's aim changed to a rather typical mistake of someone new to log-splitting: the corner. Due to the corner's rigidity, the axe normally bounces off without much trouble, but as Pelfhe's luck would have it, instead the axe handle broke. The etching he noticed earlier was actually a flaw in the wood. With the force of impact and the density of the log, the axe handle broke cleanly at the flaw and flew towards Pelfhe. Or it would have flown towards Pelfhe if he hadn't made another typical newbie to log-splitting and lost his balance forward. Instead of hitting Pelfhe in the shoulder, it wizzed past his ear and flew behind him in the middle of the messenger's speech.

The messenger's speech was cut short with a wet thud as an axehead intersected with his temple and pushing him over to the ground. A guard walking down the road towards the messenger quickly drew her sword and ran over to the messenger. He lay motionless in the road with an axehead sticking out of the temple of his forehead, blood slowly dropping down his face onto the road beneath his head. The blood pooled near his shoulder, slightly staining his humble shirt beneath the Whiterun tunic he wore. The guard grabbed the note from the Jarl and quickly spun around to see where the axe head came from and laid her eyes on the village innkeeper, eyes wide with terror, mouth hanging open with confusion. A few feet away from his feet laid an axe handle with the same color wood as the bit sticking out of the axehead.

"You there, innkeeper, come with me!"

"Wait, what? I didn't do it! It was this…"

Pelfhe was nowhere to be found. Two rough footprints and an axe handle were the only two signs that anyone beside the innkeeper was there at the chopping block. The guard took note of this briefly before dragging the innkeeper to the local Jarl with her shield hand. The innkeeper was too stunned and angry to protest properly and decided to just follow along with the guard's instructions. Hopefully his good reputation would be enough to clear his name.

And so Pelfhe began his haphazard trek into Skyrim by falling into the river behind Riverwood. Seeing what the axe-head had done, he lept forward, using chopping block and log as a vault to propel himself forward away from the situation. His legs seemingly did not appreciate this strategy and refused to properly handle the landing. Pelfhe then tumbled forward from his legs giving way. This rolled him head over heels onto the river bank with enough inertia to somehow catapult him into the river. Due to the swift current of the water, Pelfhe was too far away to be heard due to his flailing to keep himself afloat and a salmon in his mouth.

The Divines, Daedra, and Palegius Septim III chuckled. This side game was looking to be amusing.


	2. Chapter 2

Tirdas, the 11th day of Heartfire, 4E 201.

In the mountain West of Riverwood.

When he awoke Pelfhe was still wet, cold, and hungry.

The salmon didn't really feed him all that well, as it was a rather small salmon. It was tasty enough for dinner though, and cooking it over a fire in a road-side brazier he found higher up in the nearby mountain was a great idea. Sleeping next to the brazier turned out to be a bad idea. It didn't give off any heat and was a poor shield against the higher-elevation wind. In fact, the fire actually went out overnight. Pelfhe didn't know this was possible. Pelfhe had little understanding on how fire worked.

Around this time an old man with a long gray beard and two pieces of firewood came down from the mountain towards the stone. As the man approached the stone, Pelfhe stood up. This startled the man which caused him to exhale sharply, emitting a small amount of noise. The noise magnified, billowed, and turned into a circular hazy blue cloud, thrusting itself at Pelfhe. As it hit him, it knocked the wind out of him as well as forcefully relocated him backwards. A tree came to his aid, preventing him from achieving his first chance to fly. The tree's aid came with a backlash of once again knocking the wind out of Pelfhe, which also took some of his consciousness upon its exit from his body.

"What is your birthsign, mortal?" a soothing female voice asks. Stars, moons, nebulae, and darkness fill his vision as Pelfhe feels weightless and calm. He lazily turns his head to the right to see a female form made of white light, with varying degrees of brightness distinguishing her translucent figure. He was lying in her lap, and really he couldn't think of a place he'd rather be. The slight smile on her face was gentle and welcome. She looked familiar, almost like...

"Mom, is... is that you?" Pelfhe asked somewhat weakly but also sleepily. The lady's smile increased just a little.

"No, mortal. Although I am mother of many things, I am not what you would consider your mother, though you shall meet her soon. I am Mara, goddess of love" she said, softly running her hand through his hair. As she looked at him, she realized what had happened on Nirn below and recognized the man in her lap.

"Wait… Pelfhe? Oh, dear, your time has not yet come. The man who did this to you did not mean for this to happen. I can see his brethren tending to you, keeping you safe. Go back to your body, you still have much to do." With a stroke of his forehead upwards towards his hair, the woman sent him back towards his body on Nirn.

Pelfhe awoke slowly. His eyes felt heavy, his ears muffled, his back flat in a way that backs were not meant to flatten. Slowly, the world started to make sense again as three bearded faces came in to focus hovering over him. As his vision cleared, so did his hearing, and the sound he heard repeating every so often turned into a voice.

"Young man. Young man? Young man, can you hear me?"

"Uhhnn" Pelfhe nodded weakly.

All three faces exhaled with momentary relief. The one on his right and the farther one on his left look at each other with a smile as the closer man on the left shuffled and moved a little closer.

"What is your name, young sir?"

"Pel…fhe…"

"Pelfhe, you are a very fortunate soul. Not many could have survived Wulfgar's Thu'um, and you hit a tree quite soundly on your way down the mountain. Rest now, you are safe in our care. The worst is over." Pelfhe did as he was told. Easier done than said, even.

When next Pelfhe awoke, he felt odd. His limbs were heavy, but his head was light. When he moved the world seemed to counter-move in exaggeration. He had a bowel movement to attend, and his bladder felt ready to empty. Above all though, he was hungry. In his effort to get out of the bed, Pelfhe made a lot of noise due to his lack of balance, coordination, and all-around haphazardness. A familiar man with a gray beard rushed in.

"Pelfhe! You're awake! It might not-"

"Dood."

"W...what?"

"Have to make dood."

"As in... oh! Yes, let me help you to the waste room."

After the ordeal of the waste room and then soon after the wash room because Pelfhe made a mess, the gray bearded man lead Pelfhe to the dining room, where three other men of various gray-colored beards were sitting and eating. The man guiding him helped him sit at the nearest table and soon set a plate of food in front of Pelfhe. While Pelfhe was devouring the food, his guide spoke.

"My name is Arngeir. We are a group of men who hold the secrets of the dragon tongue: the Greybeards. We have lived here for many years, practicing our duties until the day the Dovahkiin comes. I am the only one able to speak anymore. The others, such as you experienced from Wulfgar, are no longer able to make a sound without creating a force from their Thu'um. The Thu'um is a projection of your inner voice as granted to us by Kynareth to fight the dragons many ages ago. We believe you may have some ability to do this as well. Usually, it takes many years of study and focus to create a Thu'um, but in your case, we believe since you were able to withstand the force of one, that you may have some talent in this area. You might be... no, time will tell."

Pelfhe didn't understand any of that. He did understand that he felt better after eating. After finishing his plate, he sat back and sighed, content. Arngeir chuckled a little.

"Okay, rest a little after your lunch. You were asleep for 3 days, but a little more rest can't hurt. Then we'll try to see if you can form a Thu'um."

An hour later, Pelfhe found himself outside on the mountain with Arngeir and another Greybeard, Einarth, stood with him. Arngeir told Pelfhe about a bunch of things, the Way of the Voice, and some other guy they trained. The other guy seemed to have some talent as well, though the Greybeards didn't seem to approve of how he used it. Anyway, Arngeir was giving instructions and Einarth would occasionally give an example. The first word they tried to teach him was simple, but still awkward for Pelfhe.

"Okay, so, the word is like food, but it ends with an s instead of a d. _Fus_."

Einarth followed suit, and a soft _Fus_ cracked though the mountain.

"Fppt."

"_Fus._"

"Fpfpt."

"Say 'food.'"

"Food."

"Say 'foods.'"

"Foods."

"Say 'fools.'"

"Fuels."

"Foooools."

"F..f...fuuls."

"Fools."

"Fuuls."

"_Fus._"

"Fpth."

Arngeir sighed softly. Pelfhe followed suit. Or tried. As he inhaled, a snowflake lodged itself up one of his nostrils. The sensation, made worse when the snowflake melted, tickled Pelfhe's nose furiously. His face twitched and twisted momentarily before letting out a mighty sneeze. In fact the sneeze was so mighty that it formed an unexpected Thu'um towards the ground. As the Thu'um cloud collided with the ground it sent out a shockwave. The shockwave was powerful enough to knock back Arngeir and stagger Einarth. When the snow settled, Pelfhe was no where to be found. Arngeir asked Einarth if he saw where Pelfhe was. Einarth simply pointed West-northwest but to the sky. Arngeir saw a dot in that direction slowing in its ascent.

"Well, we were right. He did have some talent."

Pelfhe was airborn on his way to Whiterun.


	3. Chapter 3

"_TRUST IN ME WHITERUN!"_

…

"_TRUST IN HEIMSKR!"_

…aaaaaaa

"_FOR I AM THE CHOSEN OF TALOS!"_

aaaaaaaa_aaAAAAA_

"_I ALONE HAVE BEEN ANOINTED BY THE NI-"_

A mighty crash occurred, and Heimskr didn't really know what hit him. A ball of limbs and a tunic slammed into Heimskr, knocking him back into the alter of Talos before which he often preaches. The blow was so harsh that Heimskr lost consciousness and fell to the ground limp. The few people gathered to hear his daily rants suddenly grew in number as multiple people ran over to see why the silence occurred. A guard got to the scene and after seeing what happened, drew his sword.  
>"What is this? Who are you? You're under arrest."<p>

Pelfhe's eyes were open, but with one look, one could tell he couldn't really see. The blow knocked him senseless (well, senseless for him anyway), and the lights weren't on at home. The guard grabbed Pelfhe's upper arm near the armpit and tried to drag him to his feet. Another guard showed up and helped the first carry Pelfhe towards the Whiterun prison.

Behind them, Ysolda saw a shiny thing on the ground near Heimskr: his Talos amulet. Knowing this would fetch a fair price to get her merchant dream going. Unfortunately another villager seemed to have a similar plan for the amulet. A few claims over the amulet and pushes later, and Ysolda and her opponent drew swords. Around half of those who came to see the Heimsker knock-out where still around and stayed to watch the duel. Clash, clang, and bash, Ysolda managed to her outwit her opponent with a small feint and drove her short sword into his stomach. She pulled out her sword, put it away, and grabbed the amulet internally triumphant. Her opponent sank to the ground, holding his stomach, and slowly losing breath.

A guard, watching the end of the fight, moved to walk away after the slight bit of entertainment ended. Then he realized that a dead body was present. With a exhale of surprise, he trotted over to the body and bent down to examine the body. He briefly looked over the corpse of the victim before looking up and stating a standard question to all present:  
>"Did anyone see what happened here?"<p>

Hours later, Pelfhe stirred to clanging. He felt both warm and cold at the same time. His back had a sharp pain in it, but beneath him he felt something a bit soft and warm. Maybe the Greybeards had figured out what bedding was, though, this felt like straw. Either way, it was an improvement from the stone slab-like bed he was on before, which was an improvement from sleeping outside. As he opened his eyes, his head told him that the change in light was uncomfortable, but it was bearable.

"Oh, you're awake finally."  
>A gruff voice came from beside him. Pelfhe shifted his gaze to the left and saw a guard standing in between two series of bars with a door of bars open.<p>

"You've been out for hours. Some of us were betting when you'd wake up. I'd make you stay asleep for another hour so I would win if it weren't for the guest who requested you." The guard looked disgruntled at the state of his gambling. "Instead, Bill won. Bill. What kind of name is that? Some backwater Imperial name for a backwater Imperial guard. Doesn't even drink mead." Pelfhe watched him from the floor, unsure of what was happening. He wanted to go back to sleep.

"No, don't go back to sleep," the guard warned. "I know that look. We have to get you to see the Jarl. You have some strange friends. I've never see the Jarl actually sit up when talking to someone. I wonder what really happened in Riften. Oh, I didn't say that. I'd like to keep my head." The guard continued to ramble about various things as he pulled Pelfhe to his feet and helped him out of the dungeon. Pelfhe's limbs were unwilling to move without assistance. He was still really fuzzy from the fall and the world moved a lot. He had heard a story about a guy who went out on the water on a bunch of wood before. The way he talked about going through a storm sounded a lot like what Pelfhe was experiencing now. At least he was dry.

Splash!  
>Pelfhe looked down and saw his left boot in a bucket filled with odd-colored liquid.<p>

"Oh, that's where that bucket went. Uhh... I'm sorry about this," the guard apologized. "The Jarl isn't going to be very happy if you go in smelling like that."

He balanced Pelfhe against the wall, and then went to pull the bucket off Pelfhe's foot, which had gotten wedged rather well as buckets tend to do with boots. After getting Pelfhe to lift his leg, the guard set to pulling the bucket off his foot. A few attempts started to expose Pelfhe's lack of enthusiasm for being awake. By this point the guard was squatting and paying attention to the bucket rather that Pelfhe. The guard was about to give up and try to smash the bucket but attempted one last strong pull. This just happened to be the time Pelfhe started to relax. His ankle was the first to relax, and that combined with the last effort of the guard allowed the bucket to pull free from Pelfhe.

Along with his boot.

In fact, the sudden release of opposing force caused the guard to lose his balance. He scrambled to regain his balance actually caused him to overcompensate and fall backwards with the bucket in his hands. Before he knew it, the guard was flat on his back, legs up in the air, liquid splashing over his torso, and boot squarely in his face. As the smell wafted into the guard's nose, he realized he was doomed. The combined smell of the liquid and Pelfhe's boot was enough to send the guard's consciousness somewhere close to Sovngarde. Another guard came down the nearby stairs.

"What is taking so long? What's this noi-... oh. Ugh, okay. You, against the wall, wake up. The Jarl is expecting you. Oh, that was your boot in the bucket? Looks like no more of that foul smelling stuff got on you. I'll get you some leather boots. Can't go to see the Jarl with a boot missing, and that stuff doesn't clean out. I'm Bill, by the way..."


End file.
